Page 20 of Secret Stalker

Chapter Seven

Max shifted in the uncomfortable plastic hospital chair that he’d slept in most of last night. Beside him, lying in bed with one hand cuffed to the railing, was grocery store shooter Lenny Stinsky.

The all-nighter that Dillon had predicted had turned into all night and most of the next day. It was already nearing the dinner hour. But Max wasn’t going anywhere, not when his long wait was finally about to pay off. According to Lenny’s doctor, he was now healthy enough to talk and awake enough to understand his Miranda rights.

To be absolutely certain of that, to reduce the possibility of Lenny’s statement being thrown out at trial, the chief had decided to be in on the interview. Which was why Max was sitting on one side of Lenny’s bed while the chief was on the other. But since neither of them was proficient at playing good cop, this was going to be a tag team of bad cop, bad cop. Meaning they were going to lie through their teeth to try to get as much information as they could out of the little tattoo-covered delinquent.

As gangbangers went, Lenny Stinsky was the scrawniest, least tough-looking one that Max had ever seen. Not that he’d seen all that many in Destiny. Mostly he was going by what he’d seen on TV.

The kid was eighteen, just barely. But he looked so small and scared that he could have passed for fifteen.

Luck was definitely on Max and the chief’s side today. Because the other guy Max had shot, a guy with a temper as hot as his hair was red, appeared to be the leader of the gunmen. He was far more jaded and too experienced to talk to the cops. He’d asked for a lawyer the second he woke up from the anesthesia. He’d also demanded to see Lenny. To keep him from talking, of course. But no way was Max going to let him get within a hundred feet of their little squealer.

Max scooted his chair closer to the bed and glanced at the chief sitting on the other side before asking his next question.

“So far you haven’t told us much, Lenny. We need names. If you want a deal, you need to give us something worth dealing for. Now start over, and this time give us some details.”

Lenny’s eyes were wide and uncertain as he glanced from Max to the chief and back again. “What kind of deal do I get?”

“Nothing so far. You have to prove you’ve got something we want before we talk terms.” Max glanced at his watch. “I really don’t care which one of the five of you I deal with. The first guy to talk is the one we negotiate with. The rest of you can go to prison for the rest of your lives for all I care.”

That wasn’t true, of course. Three of the five had suffered only mild concussions from being knocked out and were in county lockup, refusing to talk, just like the other guy who’d been shot and was still in the hospital. Lenny was Max’s only hope of getting any information anytime soon. But the little scumbag didn’t need to know that.

Lenny’s Adam’s apple bobbed in this throat.

Max checked his watch again. “Time’s up. I’m off to talk to one of the other guys.”

“Wait.” His hand shot up then jerked short, the handcuff rattling against the bed rail. He winced and lowered his arm. “Okay, okay. I’ll start from the top. What do you want to know?”

“Who hired you, for starters? All you’ve told us is some guy approached you and your homies on a corner in Knoxville. What was his name?”

“I don’t know.”

Max started to stand again.

“Wait, wait. I’m not lying. I really don’t know.”

The desperation in the kid’s voice told Max he was probably telling the truth. Which didn’t bode well for their investigation.

He relaxed back in his chair again, settling in for a long interview. “He never gave you a name?”

Lenny shook his head. “No. I never really saw his face, either. It was at night. We were in an alley, goofing around, when he drives up and parks his car at the entrance, blocking us in. Chucky heads over to make him move, but the guy pulls a gun on him.”

“Who’s Chucky?” Max asked.

Lenny swallowed. “He...he’s our leader. Red hair, about six feet tall, freckles.”

The other guy Max had shot.

The chief tapped the bed railing to get the kid’s attention. “You saw a guy pull a gun but you can’t describe him?”

“Didn’t say I couldn’t describe him, just not his face. The car’s headlights were shining toward us. All I could see was his outline, you know? And the gun. The guy was about six feet tall, average weight, not too skinny but not big, either.”

Max rolled his eyes. “That describes half the guys I know. What about his hair color?”

“Didn’t see it. Told you it was dark, and the headlights were on.”

“What about the gun?”

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